


birthday (28)

by you_cant_eat_books_sweetheart



Series: 2021: Nico's Birthday Event [1]
Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians & Related Fandoms - All Media Types, Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan, RIORDAN Rick - Works
Genre: Amnesia, Angst, Cold Weather, Family Feels, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Inspired by Poetry, Loneliness, Memories, Memory Alteration, Memory Loss, Moon, Reflection, Venezia | Venice, Winter, graves, nico's birthday week 2021, no beta we die like Grace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:20:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29029332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/you_cant_eat_books_sweetheart/pseuds/you_cant_eat_books_sweetheart
Summary: January 28, 2007 : Isola di San Michele“If I want the company of the non-existent,I’m better off with the crowd of shadows who lostTheir only chance to escape the darknessOn the night I happened to be conceived.”- Birthday by Charles Dennis
Series: 2021: Nico's Birthday Event [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2129652
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	birthday (28)

**Author's Note:**

> cw: refrenced child abuse twice, is vague and only implies hitting and emotional manipulation without detail, a mention of suicidal ideation which is essentially "I hope I don't wake up" 
> 
> If you find yourself uncomfortable while reading this work, please seek comfort and support from trusted individuals around you.
> 
> Thanks, and enjoy!

_ “If I want the company of the non-existent, _

_ I’m better off with the crowd of shadows who lost _

_ Their only chance to escape the darkness _

_ On the night I happened to be conceived.” _

\- Birthday by Charles Dennis

  
  
  


**January 28, 2007 : Isola di San Michele**

Frigid hands, boot treads visible in snow, breath that freezes when it hits the air. Snow is settled on the ground, stark and glittering white as the overhead moon reflects her light off of it. There is the sound of wind blowing, and the quiet rustling of leaves in trees, water flowers by somewhere in the distance beyond the walls. 

The chill of the wind settles into Nico’s bones, and Nico prays that no ill will blows in with it. He wraps his jacket tighter around himself, feeling the pull of the leather across his shoulders and the soft brush of the collar on his jawline. The wind rustles his hair, like a memory long lost. Nico shivers, he hasn’t learned how to deal with the cold yet.

He can hear the crunch of the snow beneath his feet, the little snapping sounds of the dew frozen grass which rests beneath the layer of white. Nico walks forward beyond rows of crystalline adorned trees, beyond the quadrant heart of the island he’s on. 

Surrounding him are thousands of graves. 

Crosses are raised above the ground, snow glints from atop the arms of the tombstones. Words are etched in black across each one, and each tomb is laden with flowers. Pink and yellow and orange, their petals provide contrast to the white ground and black sky of the moment. Trees grow up all around, curving upwards as they please, high above the graves beneath them. 

The island is something long forgotten in Nico’s memory, or perhaps something he never even knew; when you can’t tell the difference yourself it’s not really an important distinguishment to make. Nico’s memories of death are something that is ever present, a constant determining factor of his life. His memories of well, remembrance for the dead are not so strong. 

Nico doesn’t know much of his childhood, the sounds of his past are clumsy and lost from his mouth as he reads the names he passes aloud quietly under his breath. He’s not sure if he’s ever been here, he’s not sure of what date he should be looking for, he’s completely and entirely lost in the process of trying to be found. He keeps thinking over and over again among thoughts of the cold,  _ maybe, maybe, maybe _ . 

He had woken up this morning in Germany, with Minos nowhere to be found. It wasn’t uncommon for the old ghost to say he had something for Nico to do only to disappear and leave him alone. It was honestly to be expected at this point, Minos just left and came as he pleased, handing any possible damages off to Nico. He supposes he should be thankful to the ghost for his training, but it's hard to feel thankful when you're always waiting for the next hit and wondering what damages will come next. 

At some point after managing to purchase himself some breakfast, he’d picked up a newspaper to see if he could figure out what was up in the world. To no luck he still couldn't read much German, despite Nico knowing he’d once known the language, and the words on the page had just looked like poorly spelled English to him. What had caught his eye was the date on the top of the page. 

January 28th, 2007 had brought him to here and now. 

It was his birthday, and the bitter reminder that it was his first one alone on top of that. No Mama, no Bianca, no Nonno or Nonna either; just Nico, all alone. It was cold outside, and it was his birthday, and he was all alone. He was twelve now, and he liked to think that Mama would be proud of that. 

Although Nico had spent his afternoon trying to ignore the fact that it was his birthday, and just move through the motions of his tasks, he’d failed miserably at nightfall. Hurt and lonely in the quiet of the dark, he was simply a child who wanted the comfort of his family; if Minos decided to hit him or run him through excess training as punishment, so be it. Nico was willing to take some bruises on the off chance that he would be able to look into his grandparents faces, and maybe if he concentrated hard enough he’d be able to hug them. 

Mama couldn't be found, and Bianca was avoiding him somehow, maybe his grandparents would see him. 

There's one flaw in Nico’s plan: he doesn't know their names. 

Of course he should, and at some point he would guarantee that he did know their names. But all of that is gone now, a memory so vignetted that it's simply a blur of colors and an emotion at this point. If he lets himself drift off a little bit on the memory he can almost see something, yellow light in the night, the passing of a red present into Bianca’s hand, the yellow-white glow of the Christmas tree. There's another one too, a man sat at a table over a red carpet, he’s sitting in a high backed chair and reading a paper. Beside him a woman sits with her feet tucked under her chair, stirring a little white tea cup with ivy leaves painted on it. A window resides behind them, white light spills through the panes and beyond the window there's the blue of the water and the horizon. Nico knows that if he turned around his mother would be right there, but he can't turn around in the memory. It just doesn't work. 

That's all he has of his family, those are the only memories. 

Nico pulls his hands out of his pockets and up to his face, he cups them around his mouth so they cover his chin and nose and pushes hot air out of his mouth. It helps for a minute, until he pulls his hands away and his nose is cold again. So much for that. He is however, happy that his hair covers the tops of his ears a little bit, not having a haircut in a while was good for something he supposes.

Eventually Nico comes to a small boxed off area, the headstones are stacked here, names in long lists with little portraits of the people buried inside next to their name. Clay and porcelain vases filled with lightly frosted flowers are set on little shelves around the space, and Nico accidentally kicks a small plastic watering can with his foot, he’s glad to see it was empty and he didn’t spill water everywhere. 

He walks down the row, looking up and down the rows as he reads off surnames to himself,  _ Segio, Dal Farra, Marcato, Vianello, Rossi _ ; but no Di Angelo. 

Nico tries to reach out to see if he can feel the presence of anyone familiar, but he’s much too tired from shadow traveling across Europe and he reaches the conclusion that he might have to sleep here tonight. It doesn’t bother him too much, but Minos will be pissed again; Nico figures that if he’s already in trouble there’s no point in trying to only be in a little trouble. 

He touches the statue at the end, lets his fingers brush over the smooth stone of her carved hands, and feels the beads of the rosaries draped over her wrists move as he does so. He turns around to walk along the other side and read the graves, but yet there’s nothing bearing his family's last name. 

When Nico reaches the other side he sees an arched doorway in the nearby wall and decides to try there. Upon walking through he sees a long curved wall with trees obscuring his view of what’s to the other side. The wall is made from a rough beige-y orange colored stone that catches the skin on his fingers when he drags them lightly across it. Every few steps he crosses a closed off doorway marked in white stone, full tombs. They sometimes have little carved plaques out in front of them, bearing golden crosses and prayers, or poetry written beneath a large name. 

Nico does his best to mouth the words as he goes by, and although his pronunciation is perfect, he finds it difficult to comprehend himself. The words feel like they’re sticking, stuck to the roof of his mouth and that his ears won't let him hear the meaning. He knows something about the situation isn’t normal, some sort of magical interference? He looks to the moon, perhaps looking for help or comfort, but she stares facelessly back down upon the earth. 

Nico arrives at the last tomb and gives up as he’s searching for the name among the prayer, and yet there is nothing. 

He makes his way through the main field once again, but it is to no avail. 

Nico stands looking down at the last grave he’d found, and he just stands there for a long time. He gazes upon the name Clara Goldoni and a small portrait of an old woman embedded into the wood of the cross. Nico looks down at the white snow that covers the ground, and the little cross draped in beads and flowers until he is too cold to do so any longer. 

  
  


He sets his sights upon the church on the far side of the island from which he came, 

The jump is small, and it shouldn’t exhaust him too much so long as he doesn’t overestimate, in which case ending up in the lagoon is a very real chance. Nico tired, hungry, and rather upset with the resolution of his journey decides that it’s a risk he’s willing to take. 

He walks over to a nearby wall where the moonlight doesn’t reach, and pulls the shadows towards himself, he feels them wrap around his body. The darkness engulfs him and somehow provides less heat than the world around himself, he takes a few steps forward until he is thoroughly covered in shadow. Nico closes his eyes and imagines where he wants to be, he repeats it over and over again until he feels himself stop moving, and he hopes he’s done it right this time. He does feel solid ground under his feet which is always a good thing. 

Opening his eyes to gaze into the space around himself, Nico takes in the view from inside the church. He’d celebrate a little if he wasn’t so sad and tired, he feels himself stumble on his feet as he takes a step forward. 

The walls of the room are painted a brownish grey color, and the room is mostly bare except for a single table and a coupling of chairs. Clothes hang on exposed racks in a small platformed area of the room, and candles on altars sit proudly atop a long wooden chest.

He sees two tall doors with a dark stain on the far side of the room, he walks towards them and pushes them open to reveal a small off white and blue tiled room. Large circular windows allow moonlight to pour in from the sky outside, it casts a shadowy white light across the floor of the room. A carving of stone angels is set into the one wall, a small stone cut altar draped in white cloth rests before it. 

Nico faces towards the open wall of the room he’s in, and he walks through it. On the other side is a small room with two dark wooden pews, and a matching spiral staircase. The far wall is made of brick, and a doorway in the center of the wall leads to more church pews. On either side of the arching doorway are two women carved from stone, Nico ignores them in favor of the nave of the church. 

He walks into the large room, and picks a nearby wooden pew to lay on. 

Moonlight streams in through windows above the altar, and the moon casts her glow across the room; brighter than most nights because of the snow outside, her luminance takes up space in the otherwise lonely church. Nico lays on his side and stares at the back of the church pew in front of his and thinks about how much he wants to cry 

He’s angry because he can’t cry, and he wants to cry more because of that anger but he just can’t. He’s sad that his family isn’t even buried in their Venetian cemetery anymore, he’s angry that he came all the way out here and that he’ll get in trouble when he didn’t even get to see anyone, and he’s angry most of all that this is his life. 

Spending his twelfth birthday all alone, thinking about his dead family, and the father who doesn’t want him. Thinking about how ridiculous it is that he can’t even cry anymore, and about how he doesn’t have the energy to be angry or mournful right now. 

Nico closes his eyes, and normally he’d wish to wake up with the sun in the morning, but he’s not so sure he wants to wake up tomorrow. He spins the skull ring on his finger, and brings his one arm to rest under his head as a pillow, and he tries not to think anymore. 

He tries to imagine that he is fine, that he is safe and warm and that his mother is holding him the way she used to every night when she put him to bed. He tries to imagine the sound of her voice singing him lullabies in every language she knew, and he images the browns of her eyes, and the paint on her nails. Nico imagines himself safe and warm and home, protected within  _ Serenissima _ .

He falls asleep before the clock strikes midnight, and he turns twelve all alone in the cold of a lonely church. 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on tumblr @the-ghost-king
> 
> Written for Nico's birthday event hosted by @solangeloweek on tumblr, thanks for reading!


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